


In the Future's Shadow

by Rebelliongeneration



Category: Fringe (TV), Terminator (Movies), Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Multi, Other, Saving Each Other, Saving the World, Science Fiction, Slow Romance, non-binary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-02-07 04:49:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebelliongeneration/pseuds/Rebelliongeneration
Summary: Set some time after season 5 of Fringe, with their timelines reset without Dr. Walter Bishop, and immediately after the finale of T:SCC with the bombing of Zeira Corp, with John Connor jumping into the future. Olivia has regained her memories of the Observers and the Resistance and of Dr. Walter Bishop-- the burden of keeping these events to herself has cost her everything, including her marriage. While reeling from her personal life descending into chaos, Olivia is assigned the case of the Zeira Corp Bombing, and along with it, the file of terrorist and madwoman, Sarah Connor, presumably back from the dead. The closer Olivia gets to Sarah, the more Olivia realizes that they aren't so different after all.





	1. Chasing Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. New chapters will be added once a week until completion. Check back soon!

**Boston, Massachusetts**  
Coffee and credentials in hand, Special Agent Olivia Dunham enters the Boston Federal Building. The rising sun gleans through the brick and mortar building through bullet proof glass. Its light chases the shadows at Olivia’s feet as she passes through security and heads to the elevators. It’s a good morning when she gets the elevator to herself. She inhales until her lungs are full and her chest feels lighter, then lets it go. The heaviness she feels has nothing to do with her body.  
The bullpen of the 11th floor is already lively and bustling. Agents are getting coffee, answering phones, running back and forth with case files. Several people nod or smile at her. Olivia acknowledges them with a curt grin and continues to her office. The shared wall of the hallway is glass, though the separator walls within each office are opaque, giving them one wall to look out of and one to hide behind. Olivia put shelves there, so her desk faced the glass wall and the rest of the bullpen. Opening her office door, Olivia’s eyes fall on the picture of Peter and Etta in the book shelf. Her breath catches. She’s motionless for only a moment before she puts down her coffee and credentials and slowly shrugs out of her suit jacket. She crosses the room and picks up the frame. Fringe Division had saved the world from the Observers. The timeline had been reset and all the harm done had been undone. But Olivia still couldn’t keep her family together, even with a second chance.  
Olivia ran her hand over her blonde hair, pulled back neatly in a pony tail. She sifts through the mail left on her desk, taking mental notes, prioritizing them in her head. Underneath is a thick black manila case file with accordion backing and a heavy butterfly clip. Post-its marked dozens of pages sticking up from the document, but the newest yellow post-it was on top of the massive file. Olivia recognized Broyle’s handwriting.  
“See me ASAP.”  
Olivia reaches out and turns the thick file so she could see its name. “Connor, Sarah.”

Broyle’s office wasn’t far. Olivia continued the rest of the hallway outside of her office down to the end. Up the stairs and through the glass door into the glass office, raised and overlooking all of the bullpen and other offices. Broyles was on the phone but motioned for her to sit. Olivia does so, leaving the black file in her lap. He hangs up, quietly looking her over before speaking.  
“How did it go?” Broyles asks, his tone uncharacteristically warm. Olivia clears her throat and breaks eye contact, looking down at the file.  
“I have weekend visitations,” Olivia manages to say, meeting Broyle’s gaze.  
“I’m sorry,” Broyles sympathizes. Olivia shakes her head, putting the thick file on the desk between them.  
“You wanted to see me, sir?” she pivots, leaning back in her chair. “Quite the read.”  
Broyles raises his eyebrow, his mouth becoming a thin line.  
“This case just became Fringe jurisdiction,” Broyles begins, his eyes never wavering. “A case spanning more than 30 years, Sarah Connor has been at the center of cyborg assassins from the future, a technological driven apocalypse event called Judgment Day and most recently, the complete demolition of Massive Dynamic’s competitor, Zeira Corp, 3 hours ago in Los Angeles.”  
“This is a current picture?” Olivia questions. “Date of birth says 1965.”  
Broyles nods.  
“We have reason to believe that somehow, Sarah Connor has jumped through time,” Broyles explains.  
Olivia wished she had a harder time believing that, but she didn’t. Broyles continues, “Wherever this woman appears, she cuts a swath of destruction in her wake. I need you to determine if this woman is a certifiable terrorist with a psychotic paranoia of computers, or something more...our style. The FBI has a personal interest in this recent attack as well,” Broyles extends a personnel file to Olivia. “Former FBI agent James Ellison, originally assigned to the case in 99. He left the Bureau six months ago, after he led a tactical squad of twenty federal agents into a massacre he claimed had been the work of one man. He was the sole survivor. His last occupation was Head of Security at Zeira Corp.”  
“Do you think he was involved in the attack?” Olivia asks.  
“It’s possible. But we need more. We know they’re connected, but you need to find out how. Paint me a picture, Dunham. Take Agent Farnsworth with you. You leave for Los Angeles in 4 hours.”

 **Los Angeles, California **  
**** Olivia and Astrid keep their sparse luggage with them as they rent a Lincoln SUV and head straight for the Los Angeles Federal Building.  
“And I thought the traffic in Boston was bad,” Olivia scoffs as they discover a six-lane parking lot. Astrid has her fingers pressed to her temple, leaning against the passenger window.  
“I really wish I slept on the plane,” she sighs, scrunching her brow. “Or that we had stopped at Starbucks.”  
“I wish we had a helicopter,” Olivia riffs as the other cars begin to inch forward.  
“You’d think saving the world would earn us a helicopter, right?” Astrid continues, perking up a bit. She reaches in the backseat for the Connor file again. She starts sifting through the pages until she finds the one she had in mind. “We’re going to see Agent Auldridge. He was the last person to speak to Sarah Connor before her prison break.”  
“Did you read the transcript of their conversation?” Olivia asks.  
“Yeah. He told her that he believed her,” Astrid nods, shutting the file. She looks at Olivia. “But she still wouldn’t trust him. If I had been on the run since 19 from robots from the future, I would have jumped at the first person who believed me.”  
“That’s what bothers me,” Olivia says. “It either means that she is mentally disturbed and his belief put him at odds with her fantasy, or that she’s... beyond believing that anyone would believe in her. That and she’s obviously protecting her son.”  
“Right. ‘The future leader of mankind.’ That’s what John Connor grows up to be, in the future war against cybernetic organisms,” Astrid repeats from the file. “You know, seeing the things that we’ve seen in Fringe Division, this story isn’t such a leap for me. But for someone like Auldridge who has never been exposed to parallel universes I give him a lot of credit, taking that leap of faith in Sarah’s story.”  
“Unless he was just saying it to put Sarah at ease so she’d give up her son,” Olivia points out, playing devil’s advocate.  
“I guess we’ll find out when we ask him,” Astrid shrugs.

 

 **LA Federal Building **  
**** Auldridge was buried in the basement of the Los Angeles Federal Building, in a room that he shared with the office supplies and unserviceable computer towers waiting to be recycled. In arguably one of the most beautiful and modern buildings Olivia had ever seen, she was comforted by the fact that a basement was still a basement, even in LA. The agent was a short, stocky man with brown hair and brown eyes. Nothing remarkable stuck out about him or the ordinary clothes he wore. His beige long sleeve button down shirt with a brown tie, brown slacks and worn shoes made him look impossibly too ordinary for the conversation that he was about to have with Fringe Division. But at their entrance, Auldridge jumps from his desk, nervous and jittery, offering them admittedly terrible coffee. Olivia politely declines before sitting down across from him. Astrid takes the chair beside her.  
“Thank you for meeting with us,” Olivia begins. “I’m Special Agent Olivia Dunham and this is Special Agent Astrid Farnsworth. We’re with the Fringe Division out of Boston.”  
Auldridge grins.  
“I know who you are, Ms. Dunham. And Ms. Farnsworth. And I’d have to reverse your sentiment and say thank you for meeting with me. It’s quite an honor. Fringe Division is like the last frontier, the Wild West of investigations,” Auldridge says, raising his eyebrows. Olivia pivots, leaning on the desk with her hands folded.  
“We’re investigating the Zeira Corp bombing,” Olivia eludes gently. She looks him in the eye as she asks, “what can you tell us about Sarah Connor?”  
Auldridge shakes his head slightly, leaning back in his chair as he frowns.  
“I knew it was true. Fringe wouldn’t be here unless it was true,” Auldridge sighs.  
“If what was true?” Olivia clarifies.  
“The cyborg assassins from the future. Why Sarah Connor looks younger than she’s supposed to,” Auldridge answers, tapping his pencil on his notepad. “You know the inmates from the prison break swore that a small, petite young woman had metal in her face and a red eye? Prison guards were shooting her point blank, and she kept on going. Whoever or whatever she is, broke Sarah Connor out. And not twenty minutes later, the woman, Sarah Connor and a boy matching John Connor’s description are seen entering the Zeira Corp building. And it gets weirder,” Auldridge continues, dropping his pencil and looking up at the two agents. “We have over a dozen witnesses say that something like a chrome covered drone the size of a bicycle crashed into the penthouse and exploded. And after that, there was another explosion from the parking lot that set off a chain reaction of charges throughout the building minutes later. Everything destroyed. Not one body recovered, including that of my friend, former agent James Ellison. And before I can even request an escalation of the case, I am reassigned to this dungeon and told explicitly to forget everything. And not even 24 hours after that, here you are. I’ll help in any way that I can, Agents Dunham and Farnsworth. But I want in.”  
“In?” Olivia repeats with a raised eyebrow.  
“I want to be assigned to Fringe Division. I want to be on your team and see this thing through. I owe it to James,” Auldridge states, his jaw flexing. Olivia sits back, considering her thoughts.  
“Answer me this. In your official report, you stated that you told Sarah that you believed her. Was it a tactic, for you to gain her trust?” Olivia asks.  
Auldridge shrugs.  
“I told her I believed her because I believed her. What else but the fantastic and unexplained could explain the events that unfold around her? It must be true. Witnesses saw something. What that something is, I don’t know and can’t begin to know. But the truth is that something happened that we can’t explain, not with our typical mode of understanding. Sarah Connor had been alone in all of this. And she’s been dead before, so it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she turned up again. But when she does, I want to be there,” Auldridge finishes, taking a deep breath.  
Olivia gives Astrid a look, standing.  
“I’ll make a call.”  
Olivia steps outside into the hallway. She feels Broyles’ reluctance through the phone.  
“I’ll inform his superior officer that we’ll be using him for the case. I don’t think they’ll miss him. I want you to run down everyone he spoke to leading up to the bombing. As for a transfer, it’ll depend on the outcome of this investigation,” he answers, not waiting for a response. The call ends. Olivia sees her daughter Etta in her phone background. She swallows hard, trying to ease the sudden pang in her chest before going back into the room.  
Auldridge looks up expectantly.  
“You’re on the case. But no promises for a full transfer. Let’s go.”  
They went over the list of witnesses in the car. Auldridge suggests speaking to Tarissa Dyson again first.  
“Why her?” Olivia asks.  
“Back in ‘97, Sarah Connor, the big guy from the 1984 murder spree, Sarah’s young son John and Miles Dyson—” Auldridge begins.  
“Blew up Cyberdyne. Miles was injured by the SWAT team and detonated the explosives,” Olivia finishes.  
“Good with details?” Auldridge asks.  
“Photographic memory,” Astrid winks. “So, watch what you say.”  
Olivia grins.  
“We believe that Sarah has had contact with Tarissa over the years after her husband’s death. But Sarah didn’t know or pretended not to know about Danny Dyson’s disappearance. Tarissa Dyson filed a missing person report for him three weeks prior to the reappearance of Sarah Connor in LA.”  
“You think Sarah reached out to Tarissa after Zeira Corp?” Olivia asks.  
“It’s possible,” Auldridge shrugs. “Sarah Connor is very hard to predict.”  
Tarissa Dyson’s home blends in with its neighbors. Lawn’s well-kept, flowerbed is bright and tidy just below the porch. Tarissa opens the door for the three agents on her doorstep, her face strewn with desperate hope at their appearance.  
“Have you found him? Is there news?” she asks as she leads them into the sitting room directly off of the entrance.  
“Mrs. Dyson, your son’s disappearance has now been elevated to a joint task force of the FBI and Homeland Security. My name is Special Agent Olivia Dunham. This is Special Agent Astrid Farnsworth. Agent Auldridge will be assisting due to his previous involvement. We’re in the process of re-interviewing, just to be thorough,” Olivia explains, watching Tarissa’s expression of hope become annoyance.  
“What does that mean? Why has Danny’s disappearance caught the attention of a joint task force? What is this about?” Tarissa demands.  
“I’m sorry. We can’t disclose that. But rest assured that this means more resources are being dedicated to find your son. We have some questions, if that’s alright,” Astrid answers gently.  
Tarissa sits back on the couch, taking a deep breath.  
“Of course,” she replies, halfheartedly. They revisit the original report Tarissa filed, the details she gave Auldridge. Then Olivia asks a few new ones.  
“When’s the last time you saw Sarah Connor?”  
Tarissa lets out a hollow laugh.  
“Aren’t you people tired of chasing a dead woman?” Tarissa sneers. But Olivia is patient. Finally, Tarissa leans forward. “The last time I saw Sarah Connor was on the news after the bombing of that building downtown.”  
“When’s the last time you saw Sarah Connor in person?” Olivia continues.  
“Like I told Agent Auldridge. I don’t make it a point of taking house calls from the person who murdered my husband.”  
“What about the house call Sarah Connor paid you two years ago? Your neighbors describe a woman matching her description as walking up to your front lawn as you were gardening,” Olivia asks pointedly. Tarissa shakes it off.  
“Do you know how many women match Sarah Connor’s description? Now is this investigation about my missing son or about a crazy woman who blows up buildings?” Tarissa snaps back. “Now I’ve answered your questions. Is there anything else?”  
Olivia gives a polite smile.  
“Do you mind if we see Danny’s room? It helps to get a sense of who he is, where he might go,” Olivia asks.  
“Danny was dorming at Cal-tech. He wasn’t living at home when he went missing. But it’s upstairs, first door on the right.”  
They head upstairs. Olivia peers into the room. It is kept pristine. Astrid takes pictures, while Auldridge takes notes of the posters on the wall. Olivia, however feels pulled to a different room. She knocks, and finding no answer, opens the door. Another bedroom, also not lived in for a while. Computer towers are stacked, motherboards are piled in three milk crates at the foot of the bed. A giant white board is hung over a sleek glass desk with complex algorithms written sloppily, possibly in a rush. Olivia takes some photos, and goes back downstairs. Tarissa is waiting with her arms folded across her chest in the foyer.  
“Mrs. Dyson, you also have a daughter, is that correct?”  
“Yes. Christine. She moved out when she turned 18. I always thought she’d be the one going to Cal-tech, but school, and life in general was very hard for her. We haven’t spoken in years. Danny’s—” Tarissa’s eyes well up, “—he’s really all I have left.”  
“We’re going to do everything we can to find him,” Olivia promises. She can’t stop thinking of when Etta was lost. But she reminds herself that no one else remembers that. No one remembers anything from the previous timeline.

 

The next stop is Cal-tech. Danny’s dorm had since been cleaned out and occupied by another student, but the three of them split up and spoke to Danny’s teachers. Olivia sits down with the head of the Engineering Department, Dr. Madeline Kincaid.  
“Danny was a good student. Never late, always handed in his assignments. I was looking forward to his independent study project next semester before his disappearance,” Dr. Kincaid explains.  
“When’s the last time you remember seeing Danny?”  
“I ran into him on the quad. He was excited about a lecture in theoretical physics that he had been invited to. He didn’t show up for our next class. Never saw him again.”  
“Which professor gave the lecture?” Olivia asks. Dr. Kincaid shrugs.  
“It was a guest speaker, Dr. Bowen I think.”  
“Why would an engineering major be invited to a theoretical physics lecture?” Olivia asks, finding it peculiar.  
“I’m not sure, but Danny wasn’t the only one in class to go. Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time.”  
“Did you notice a dip in attendance with others in your class?”  
“Yes, but that’s not unusual. This is a tough major. Students drop out all the time.”  
Olivia nods and makes her exit. If Danny wasn’t the only one, it might be reasonable to guess that whoever this Bowen is, was using the campus to recruit students. But for what? Olivia spots Astrid on a bench outside, her notebook in hand. Auldridge is a few feet away, buying hot dogs from a cart.  
“Dr. Kincaid said Danny attended a lecture right before he disappeared, given by a guest speaker, Dr. Bowen,” Olivia shares. Astrid nods, reaching for her phone.  
“Yup. Dr. Elise Bowen, PhD in theoretical physics. Look what comes up in Google,” Astrid says, offering Olivia her phone. There’s an image of Dr. Bowen standing next to Dr. William Bell.

 **New York City, NY **  
**** The pristine white and glass architecture of Massive Dynamic should feel familiar at this point, but as Olivia walks through the main lobby, she still feels like the place is too clean. She preferred the mess of the Harvard lab. She missed Walter, the man that didn’t exist, from the life that was erased. She missed the life that she couldn’t talk about. What good would it do? To tell Peter about a father he could never get back? She wondered what memories he did have about his father, about the mad scientist that so much was built around and fought over. What did the others remember about their past, where Walter had been the pivotal memory, the cause? Was it all just glossed over, not thought about? It was enough to drive Olivia crazy. It was definitely enough to drive a wedge between her and Peter. He knew there was something she was hiding. But Peter didn’t remember the pain of the past. How could she remind him of losing Etta, finding her and then losing her all over again? Etta was here and alive. Peter should enjoy that, even if Olivia couldn’t.  
“Thank you for seeing me,” Olivia greets as Nina meets her at the elevator.  
“I always have time for you,” Nina smiles, warmly embracing the agent.  
As they walk together down a long hall, Olivia is struck by the image of the Nina they found dead. She had sacrificed herself, rather than be read by the Observers, rather than giving up the boy.  
“Olivia? Are you alright?”  
Olivia forces a smile.  
“Yes. Just thinking,” Olivia replies simply as they enter Nina’s office.  
They sit down, with tea service already waiting at the table.  
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. I heard about you and Peter. How are you doing?” Nina asks. She means well, but the question sears Olivia. The blonde forces a small grin.  
“Trying not to think about it. I knew it was coming. But I still have a job to do,” Olivia steels herself. Nina nods, understanding. Olivia shifts slightly in her chair before continuing, “we’re investigating a missing persons case, and we’ve come across a person of interest with ties to William Bell. Do you know Dr. Bowen?”  
Nina’s face sours considerably.  
“Yes. She worked here with William over two decades ago as head of our theoretical applications department, or TAD. She helped develop the technology that would eventually become my bionic arm in the 80s. William designed it of course, but Elise gave him the idea. She became obsessed with robotics and AI applications particularly in the mid-90s, and was fired from Massive Dynamic for sharing designs of an Exo-Suit with the Chinese Military,” Nina explains, pouring the tea. “How is Dr. Bowen involved in a missing persons case?”  
“That’s what we’re trying to put together. The missing person is said to have attended a lecture given by Bowen before disappearing,” Olivia replies. “Have you had any contact with Bowen or might know where she is?”  
“Unfortunately, no. William kept some tabs on her over the years, but none that he shared.”  
“If Bowen had designed an Exo-suit while working with Massive Dynamic, why wasn’t it built? Why take it to the Chinese Military?” Olivia asks.  
“William didn’t like the idea of building killing machines. He felt that Elise polluted the idea of why he formed Massive Dynamic. He called it warmongering,” Nina explains, taking in Olivia’s pensive expression. She adds, “I wish I could be more help.”  
“Actually, I would like to study the projects that Bowen worked on while she was here. It would give us a better idea of what she could be up to now.”  
“Of course," Nina agrees, something else still on her mind. She puts her hand over Olivia's. "If there's anything I can do for you or Etta, please don't hesitate."

Olivia forces a smile, nodding. "Thank you," she manages to say. 

 

 **Boston **  
**** Olivia couldn’t help reviewing Sarah Connor’s file again on the flight home. She stared at the photo of Sarah, found green eyes boring into her own. She thought about the timelines, her past, this woman running from supposed machines from the future. The Observers had been from the future. They descended into the past in order to manipulate the future they wanted. It was entirely possible that Sarah Connor was caught up in another war for the future. But where Olivia had a team to get through all of the strange and unexplainable adventures, Sarah had been alone. No one believed her. No one helped her. Olivia reviewed the police report from 1984, read the interview from a man identified as Kyle Reese. He spoke about time travel, not being able to take things from the future back with him, being a solider of the resistance against the machines. Hours after his statement was given, an unidentified man assaulted the precinct and murdered over 30 police officers. Prior to the precinct attack, the same unidentified man had turned a club into a shooting gallery in pursuit of 19-year-old Sarah Connor. Reese turned up dead. Witnesses say that Sarah left town and understandably so. Olivia would have done the same. No one would have felt safe. Olivia breathes deeply. She understood not feeling safe.  
Back in Boston, her new apartment was quiet. She had moved out when things were on the rocks with Peter. Broyles was able to help with the search and came up with a decent place not too far from the Federal Building. Its windows even faced East, so it caught the sunrise. Olivia loved the light, but it was just a space. Not quite home. Just a place to go at the end of the day.  
She showered and unpacked. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down on the couch, staring at her cell phone on the coffee table, next to Sarah Connor’s file. After downing half of her wine, she picked up her phone. She hit her recent calls. Peter’s name was right under her thumb. She knew that if she called wanting to talk to Etta, Peter would have zero problem with it. She ached for her little girl. But in her heart, Olivia knew she didn’t deserve Etta. She put the phone down and picked up the wine.

 

 **Federal Building **  
**** Olivia got to the office early the next day. She didn’t sleep much the night before. She felt guilty for putting her through this, for the way Etta would have to grow up now. But pretending with Peter was exhausting. She was bone tired and she couldn’t pretend that she didn’t feel the other timeline like an open wound, pinching at unexpected times, stinging with wrong movements. Etta was better off with Peter, because he could be present, here and now and not stuck in memories of what never was.  
Astrid popped her head in with two cups of coffee and a manila folder under her arm.  
“You look contemplative and broody,” Astrid smirks, entering and placing the coffee in front of Olivia before sitting down.  
“You bear coffee and comments. Nice,” Olivia quips. “Where’s Auldridge? Any leads with Bowen?”  
“Auldridge should be in by mid-afternoon. Broyles was able to secure some temporary federal housing for him,” Astrid begins, opening up the file folder out on the table. “We do have a few leads. Turns out that Dr. Bowen has given lectures all over the country for over a decade. They’re all invitation only. Some at MIT, Northwestern, Harvard. There’s something else,” Astrid measures Olivia for a moment before pushing the file across to the blonde.  
Olivia picks up the photograph inside, eyes wide in recognition.  
“Peter?”  
There in the middle row of about 12 MIT students, was a young Peter Bishop. Olivia’s stomach drops. It seemed no matter how much she tried to avoid him, the universe wanted them orbiting each other. No matter how painful. Olivia places the photo aside and looks through the other intel. Bowen’s other lectures through the years, flyers, scans of signed year books. She carefully composes herself before she looks up again at Astrid.  
“Nina should have sent some of Bowen’s projects from Massive Dynamic by now. Let’s try to correlate them and get a working timeline,” Olivia instructs, her voice forcibly even.  
“I can follow up with Peter,” Astrid offers, not buying Olivia’s misdirect. “It doesn’t have to be you.”  
Olivia gives a small grin. Astrid was a good friend.  
“Yes it does,” Olivia replies.

 

 **The Park **  
**** It was surreal sitting on the bench with Peter, in the park where Etta had been separated from them by the Observer invasion. Peter didn’t remember that. He just had fond memories of his family laying around in the grass, bathing in summer sunlight, or stealing a warm spring afternoon together. Olivia had loved those stolen days.  
Peter was already there when she arrived. He hadn’t shaved since the custody hearing. His eyes were darkened by lack of sleep and his hair stuck up at weird angles. He needed a haircut. But he stood up when she approached him. Ever the gentleman. They sat down together and Olivia noticed how far apart they were. She picked up his scent, cologne she got him from last Christmas and the scent threw her into an emotional tailspin. She missed a home she would never know again.  
“I’m sorry this is the first time we’ve spoken since...” Peter begins, sadness rolled up in his voice. “How are you?”  
Olivia shakes her head. She could not do this, with Peter being so sweet.  
“Peter, I need to ask you about Dr. Elise Bowen.”  
Peter looks like she slapped him.  
“That takes me back. She was a visiting professor at MIT,” he replies, his brows pulled together, perplexed. Then he smiles. “Had some wild theories. Why?”  
His smile makes it worse.  
“The FBI has reason to believe that Bowen has been recruiting students from campuses all over the country. What started as a missing persons case for one young man has sprouted to over a dozen cases. Astrid found a picture of you with Bowen at MIT. Anything you could tell me would help. Did she ever approach you about a private project?” Olivia asks, finding comfort in being an agent towards him, not his ex-wife.  
“Uh, I really only had one class with her, but I remember her pushing the Maximum Causal Entropy Production Principle. Meaning artificial intelligence will naturally progress and gravitate to a place where they can respond and adapt to the stimuli around them. Her cronies were impressed by it, but Dr. Alex Wissner-Gross and countless others were also peddling that theory for years before annnnd you’re staring at me,” Peter says, nervously smiling again. He looks down and away, out into the grassy field.  
Olivia’s heart is pounding. Artificial intelligence naturally progressing and adapting? Her brain conjures Sarah Connor, that savage, lonely look, boring up at her from the photo. Can this all really tie back to the machines? Or can this be a return from the Observers in a new, horrifying way?  
Olivia composes herself.  
“Her cronies,” Olivia repeats. “What can you tell me about them?”  
Peter gives her a look she knew well. A look that says, I know what you’re doing, but I’ll play along.  
“She had a fan club wherever she went. Students and faculty that constantly surrounded her,” Peter answers. “They thought she was going to change the world.”  
“I’m going to need the names of anyone you remember following Bowen around,” Olivia says, standing with her phone already in her hand.  
“Olivia,” Peter begins, standing too. Olivia reluctantly looks at him. He scratches the back of his head, a sign he’s nervous. “Etta misses you. She asks for you every day.”  
Olivia sucks in air.  
“I can’t do this,” Olivia shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”  
“Olivia, please.”  
“You think I don’t miss her every second? There isn’t a moment that goes by that I don’t think about her,” Olivia snaps, pain strewn in her voice. She puts her hand over her chest, needing the physical motion of her body to keep her steady.  
“She still needs you. You and I don’t work anymore, I get it and I’m trying to accept that. But you’re her mother. She needs you in her life,” Peter stresses.  
“Etta is better off without me,” Olivia shakes her head and walks away.  
Olivia gets in her truck as her phone rings.

 

 **Federal Building **  
**** Astrid had commandeered Olivia’s office. A large whiteboard full of notes blocked the wall looking out into the bullpen, along with three new stacks of case files. In the center was Astrid, matching paper piles to paper piles on either side of her laptop. She jumps once she realizes Olivia’s in the room.  
“Hey,” Astrid broaches softly, gaging the look on Olivia’s face. “Did he know anything?”  
“We’ll see,” Olivia replies quietly, stepping over the papers on the floor to the white board. She points, “you’ve been busy.”  
Astrid glances at the board, crossing her arms.  
“We got a delivery from Massive Dynamic, compliments of Nina. There are—” Astrid motions around them, “—a lot of projects to go through, but the one that stuck out to me was Bowen’s partnership in 1996 with a company called Cyberdyne. The head computer scientist involved was—”  
“—Miles Dyson. Danny’s father,” Olivia finishes, her eyes wide with recognition. “Do you think Bowen kidnapped Danny and the other students to continue the work from Cyberdyne?”  
Astrid shrugs.  
“It’s very possible. Bowen’s notes on their research together are extensive. What we know for certain,” Astrid takes a red marker and circles SARAH CONNOR on the white board, “is that immediately after Sarah Connor blew up Cyberdyne, resulting in the death of Miles Dyson in 1997, Dr. Bowen designed a military grade Exo-Suit for Massive Dynamic and shared the designs with the Chinese Military.”  
“Maybe she was hoping since Cyberdyne was gone, that the Chinese could give her the CPU processing power,” Olivia thinks aloud. Astrid turns to her.  
“That was Miles Dyson’s last project. An AI platform,” Astrid nods. “So, she built the body—”  
“And Miles was building the brain,” Olivia finishes, reading the rest of the whiteboard notes. “Okay, so after Bowen is fired from Massive Dynamic, the Chinese Military op not to build Bowen’s designs. Why?”  
“Maybe it was too expensive,” Astrid throws out.  
“Or maybe they were threatened by the US Military,” Auldridge interjects from the doorway. He looks around, shaking his head. “Did I tell you I worked in a jail cell during the Connor case?”  
Astrid and Olivia share a look. Auldridge steps over the papers on the floor and joins them, a manila folder under his arm. He opens it, pulls out a piece of paper and magnets it to the whiteboard. Most lines have been redacted, but it’s an official FBI memorandum.  
“A meeting was held with Chinese officials in an undisclosed military base off the coast of Honolulu, October 11th, 1998. They discussed specifically the use of force if the Chinese ever acted on Bowen’s designs, as it would be in direct violation of the good will fostered between the two countries,” Auldridge explains. “This document was declassified thanks to the Freedom of Information Act. Our tax dollars at work.”  
“Ok. Then after being rejected by the Chinese military, Bowen goes dark for a few months, then starts her Ivy League tour in January 1999. There are over 30 appearances over the last seven years so far.” Astrid adds. “At least our timeline is filling in.”  
“There’s more,” Auldridge says, putting up photos on the board. “A buddy sent these over. 16 hours ago, this lab blew up in downtown LA, along with four storage containers, all rented by a Dr. Elise Bowen. We also have several plane tickets from LAX to Nevada, six trips in as many weeks, as well as an apartment in Burbank, California as the last known address of an Eli Bowen,” Auldridge finishes, clearly proud of himself, hands on his hips as he nods to the photos on the board. “Could be her brother, or a new name she’s trying on for size.”  
Astrid and Olivia keep their eyes on the board too.  
“Red eye to LA?” Astrid asks.  
“Yeah,” Olivia replies flatly.  
The two women walk out, heading to Broyles’ office.  
“Hey, great job there Agent Auldridge, so glad we have you on the case, Agent Auldridge,” Auldridge huffs after them.

 

 **Burbank, California **  
**** Olivia adjusts her body armor, ‘FBI’ bold and white on her chest. As they waited for confirmation, she pulls out her phone, looking at Etta’s picture for her background. Just then, Peter calls. She hits ignore, then shuts her phone completely. She has to focus.  
Word comes over the radio that Bowen is inside. Olivia signals. She leads a squad inside the apartment building. Somewhere above them, glass shatters. Olivia breaks into a run, taking three stairs at a time, sprinting to Bowen’s floor.  
“ELISE BOWEN! THIS IS THE FBI. OPEN THE DOOR,” Olivia commands. No response. Olivia stands back and throws her shoulder into the door, breaking the lock. The door swings open. Bowen is face down on the floor, a bullet in her head. Olivia clocks the shattered glass and moves away from the window. “All units, BOWEN is dead. Be advised, possibility of a sniper.”  
“We got a runner! In the alley!” comes a crackled answer over the radio.  
Olivia spots a window open on the east side of the apartment, leading to a fire escape. She bolts through it. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she speeds down the rickety fire-escape, struggling with the ladder’s latch at the bottom. It finally gives, dropping down. Olivia lowers herself, jumping at the end. She takes out her gun and readies the round as she runs towards the mouth of the alley. And there like a ghost, twenty-feet away, is Sarah Connor.  
“STOP, FBI!” Olivia shouts.  
Sarah turns, facing her, Glock in hand. Rounds ring out. Olivia ducks behind a dumpster. Metal clangs on the ground. There’s a hiss, and suddenly the alley is engulfed in smoke. Olivia stands up, walking a few feet out, but can’t see anything or anyone. The smoke disperses, billowing like a skirt towards the brick buildings. Sarah is gone. Olivia touches the radio on her shoulder.  
“Lost eyes on the target,” she calls in.  
Back in Bowen’s apartment, the forensic team is already working to preserve any evidence. Olivia spots Astrid, sifting through burnt out computer towers.  
“Anything?” Olivia asks.  
“Nope. We found hard drives in the microwave. Popcorn setting,” Astrid muses, putting down a fried motherboard.  
“Bowen must’ve done this. Our shooter didn’t have enough time,” Olivia reasons. “Astrid. I saw Sarah Connor. She was here.”  
Astrid straightens up.  
“Are you sure?”  
“Positive. She used a smoke bomb in the alley. She could’ve shot me, but she didn’t,” Olivia continues, lowering her voice.  
“How do you know?”  
Olivia played the images back in her mind.  
“She shot high. I heard the round ricochet off the fire- escape,” Olivia answers, her eyes following one of the other agents as they pass. She refocuses on Astrid. “We should have the security feed from the storage facilities by now. I’ll meet you back at the field office.”

***

**BURBANK FIELD OFFICE**

     An unidentified man rips the gates off the storage units on the computer screen. He steps inside each unit calmly, his expression never changing. The man leaves, continuing down the row of storage units, and 30 seconds later, Bowen’s storage units explode, blinding the camera before it cuts out. For a moment, no one says anything.

     “What kind of person can do that?” Astrid asks, to no one in particular.

     Auldridge leans back in his chair, scratching his ear.

     “The same kind of person that busted Sarah Connor out of prison,” he says solemnly. “A machine. Just like Sarah said. And this one, Mr. Hands On, is the same thing that destroyed Bowen’s six labs in the area.”

     “Do you think this thing killed Bowen?” Astrid asks.

     Olivia’s brow bends in thought. She leans forward, starring at the photos on the table of the man. Or machine. She shakes her head, looking up at Astrid.

     “We need more to go on. We need some hard evidence about what Bowen was working on, and how it ties into the missing students,” Olivia says, standing up. “Bowen has been out to Nevada pretty frequently. Maybe there’s another lab there.”

     “Or it could be her sick aunt Peggy’s dude ranch,” Auldridge differs. “We have nothing that suggests otherwise.”

     “This machine is out to destroy Bowen’s work. If I’m right, we can actually get ahead of this and maybe capture this machine,” Olivia continues.

     Auldridge shakes his head.

     “Olivia, you don’t capture a terminator. You run.”

     “What if Danny Dyson and all those missing kids are somewhere in the desert?” Astrid counters. She looks at Olivia. “I think it’s our only lead at this point.”

     Olivia nods.

     “Let’s get two units on standby. We’re going,” Olivia says as she heads for the doorway.

     Auldridge remains in his seat.

     “What if Sarah Connor’s out there? What are you gonna do?” he asks.

     Olivia blinks, her face expressionless. The truth was, ever since their encounter in the alley, Olivia could think of little else but finding Sarah Connor.

     “My job,” she replies simply.

 

**NEVADA DESERT**

     Under a white tent in the desert, Olivia, Astrid and Auldridge huddle around a map spread out on the fold up table, held down by rocks at each corner. Astrid takes point.

     “Bowen’s rented cars always had the same amount of mileage on them when she turned them in. So, we took that distance and made a perimeter, to see if anything unusual was in that area. With satellite imaging, we were able to locate a facility here,” Astrid explains, pointing to a spot on the map. “It used to be a munitions supply warehouse during World War II, but was abandoned in 1954. We are 2 miles down the road from that location.”

     Olivia looks down the dirt road to the hazy horizon line. She was close to getting her answers, and possibly, closing in on Sarah Connor. In the distance, she picks up on helicopter blades. The chopping gets louder. Olivia steps out from under the white tent and looks up. A military issue Apache begins to circle, kicking up sand and wind. Olivia shields her eyes as the Apache touches down a safe distance away. Broyles climbs down, dressed in his military fatigues, approaching Olivia with purpose.

     “Sir! What are you doing here?” Olivia shouts as the helicopter powers down.

     Broyles holds onto his hat.

     “We’ve been ordered to cease and desist, Dunham!” Broyles answers without stopping, trudging towards the white tent. Olivia keeps up as he continues, “the coordinates of the facility from the satellite imaging triggered an alert response from the Department of Defense.”

     Olivia stares at him. “Sir?”

     “It’s a black site,” Broyles says. “Bowen was operating with government funding.”

     Olivia is struck silent. Broyles frowns before heading inside the tent. Olivia suddenly feels strange. Her stomach twists in knots. She turns to the horizon again, just in time for the ground to shake. A deafening BOOM goes off in the distance, and Olivia sees a column of savage smoke cloud the sky.

***


	2. Reading the Terrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah's side of the story, taking place right after the Zeira Corp bombing. She takes James Ellison and Savannah Weaver to the safe house that John, Derek and Cameron never made it to. Sarah has lost her son, but she hasn't lost her mission. She's determined to find Danny Dyson and figure out why a little girl is so important to the future of mankind.

**Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, 7 days ago**

     They had been driving for hours in silence. Sarah couldn’t bring herself to speak. She had traded her own child for this helpless girl in the back seat, consoled only by the fact that John had finally made his own choice and wounded beyond words that he didn’t choose her. She always knew that’s how it would go down. John had to choose being the future leader of mankind over being her son, but the knowledge didn’t dull the pain. Sarah felt raw, stripped like a live wire whipping around and cut loose. She was full of rage, looking for any excuse to lash out. It couldn’t be on James or Savannah. They were all she had now, even though none of them were each other’s choices. They were three people in a Jeep, in the desert, left behind.

     “I have to go to the bathroom,” came the quiet voice from the back seat, soft and sad, unsure as it breaks Sarah out of her thoughts. She looks at the little girl through the rear-view mirror. It has been a long time since John was that age. Sarah pulls off road behind a hill and stops the Jeep, glancing at James as she unbuckles. She hops out and opens the backseat.

     “We’re going to pretend we’re camping,” Sarah encourages flatly, helping the red head down. She reaches behind the seat for a toiletry bag, slinging it over her shoulder, her green eyes bearing into James. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Sarah warns quietly. James nods, shrugging out of his suit jacket and hanging it over the head rest.

     “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answers grimly.

     Sarah takes Savannah’s hand and leads her away from the Jeep. The girl relieves herself, using the toilet paper from Sarah’s bag and carefully adjusts her clothes. Sarah holds out hand sanitizer for her. They start walking back, when the red head stops in her tracks. Sarah looks at her.

     “Where did they go?” Savannah asks.

     Sarah looks out into the desert for the answer.

     “Far away.”

     “Are they coming back?” Savannah asks.

     Sarah bends down to the girl’s level, making sure they looked each other in the eyes. She brushes Savannah’s hair away from her face. She knew saying the words would make them real.

     “No. They aren’t,” Sarah replies honestly.

     To her credit, the girl doesn’t sob. The tears fall quietly down Savannah’s cheeks. Sarah wipes the girl’s face gently.

     “I’m sad too. But James and I are going to take care of you. Our lives are going to be different from now on. Do you understand?” Sarah says firmly. Savannah nods, and they head back to the Jeep.

 

     The sun sets as the Jeep mounts a hill. Just beyond is a road cutting between two ridges on a higher elevation. Savannah is fast asleep, and James hasn’t said a word in miles.

     Twenty minutes later, they’ve passed the two ridges. Sarah eases into a stop once they’re through a stone wall enclosure. The safe house is camouflaged by tumbleweeds, dried brush, drift wood, boulders. It looks like a piece of the mountain, which was the point. Camo netting covers the roof, making them invisible to any overhead surveillance, enclosing them in a netted canopy. The netting extended to the stone wall, so they could be outside safely as well.

This was where they were supposed to meet, John, Derek and Cameron, before the plan got blown to hell. Sarah had taken Cameron on night outings to complete this place weeks before. From here, Sarah would scope out another area to set up in a few days and keep moving. Always. _If you stay still, you die_. It never occurred to Sarah that she’d be the only one to make it here.

James pulls Savannah into his chest and out of the Jeep, carrying the sleeping child in his arms. Sarah walks in the door first, shutting off the alarm. She turns on a lamp. It’s a simple place: couch, table and chairs, kitchen. One bedroom off the entry way, the other in the rear of the abode. James puts Savannah down in the first bedroom, closing the door and leaving him and Sarah in the living room.

“The property is rigged with mines on the hill, so don’t go anywhere beyond the walls. The rear has motion sensors. Cameras. Tomorrow we’ll secure the road up here,” Sarah instructs as she goes about the room, turning on another lamp. She heads for the door again. “Help me with the gear.”

“This is all normal to you, isn’t it?” James half asks, half accuses, his voice strained.

Sarah doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

“What’s next? What are we supposed to do?” James demands, desperate.

“Survive,” Sarah replies flatly. “Step one, escape. Step two,” Sarah trails off, stepping up to James, eyeing him in her intense green gaze, “unload the gear,” she finishes.

James frowns, but follows her lead.

Once everything is inside, Sarah starts inventory. James sits on the couch, watching Sarah move through her duties mechanically. She prepares gun after gun, cleaning and reloading, lining them up carefully next to extra ammo clips. She unfolds a map, tacking it onto a bare wall in the kitchen. She lines up the provisions- food, water, tanks of gas, a trunk filled with grenades, smoke bombs, wiring, blocks of C4. James is clearly amazed and terrified. When Sarah gets to the last trunk, she slows down. She puts aside the body armor inside and gathers some clothes in her hands. She extends them to James.

“These should fit you,” Sarah states. Hesitantly, James accepts.

“Whose were they?”

“Someone who doesn’t need them anymore,” Sarah replies, already up and going to the next task. James studies the shirt.

“The man killed at the Weaver house. The one who killed Andy Good,” James guesses.

Sarah stops, her stare blank.

“Like I said. Someone who doesn’t need them.”

“Who was he?” James insists. Sarah glares, her lips a thin, resolute line. James tries a different tactic, saying, "Sarah, you can trust me."

“No. Maybe not ever,” Sarah shakes her head, but there’s no malice in her voice.

“I told you, I had nothing to do with you getting arrested. They followed me.”

“And I’m supposed to be comforted by the fact that you aren’t a snitch, you’re just sloppy?” Sarah quips back, frustration sharpening her voice. She sighs heavily.

James looks away as he says, “it doesn’t change anything, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Sarah studies him, feeling bad in spite of her anger. She grabs her duffel, lifting it off the pile.

“You can couch it. We’ll make a plan in the morning,” she says and heads for the other bedroom without another word.

***

 

    

Sarah’s eyes open an hour before sunrise. She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, trying to shake the dreams off. She had been looking for John in the dark, turbulent jungle. The sound terrified her the most. Twigs snapping, animals calling, heart pounding. Sarah touches the gun under her pillow, and a wave of relief washes over her, her thoughts clearing. Her mind sharpens, and she sets up on the floor to do her first round of sit-ups. By sunrise, Sarah’s out of the shower, dressed, and preparing landmines at the kitchen table.

     James emerges from the living room wearing Derek’s old clothes— dark grey t-shirt and dark green utility pants, thick socks. Sarah smirks at how painful it looks for James to be out of a suit. He shuffles towards the percolator on the stove and pours himself coffee before joining Sarah at the table.

     “I checked on Savannah during the night, gave her an extra blanket. It’s freezing out here,” James opens, holding his mug. He takes a deep swig, putting the mug down and tapping on its curve. “I never said thank you.”

     “No, you didn’t,” Sarah agrees, putting aside the landmines.

     James sighs.

     “Thank you. My old life is destroyed, but at least I have a chance to live a new one,” he says, folding his hands almost in prayer. Sarah spots the gold chain around his neck.

     “You shouldn’t thank me yet,” she counters, carefully placing the landmines in the trunk at her feet.

     “All the same,” James murmurs. “I do. So, where do we go from here?”

     “The mission stays the same. Stop Skynet,” Sarah answers, hearing the tiredness in her voice. “In jail, Auldridge said Danny Dyson was missing. That’s a start.”

     “You think Skynet has him?” James asks.

     “The drone that crashed into Weaver’s office was the same one from the Skynet work camp. Skynet always uses people to do their dirty work. Maybe Danny got caught in the net,” Sarah says, casting a glance toward the closed bedroom door. “They’ll keep coming for her.”

     “No one will harm that child,” James swears quietly. Sarah watches a dark thought shadow James’ eyes as he says, “I wasn’t lucky enough to have a child of my own. But God works in mysterious ways.”

     “God isn’t part of my programming,” Sarah quips, standing up. “There’s a town not far from here.  There are things I need to do. I’ll pick up some clothes for you and Savannah.”

     “Not my style, huh?” James chuckles. He seems calmer after last night, and Sarah’s glad for it. She’s then hit by the image of her son, his face before he jumped into the future, away from her and her lip becomes a thin line. Without another word, she grabs her bag from behind the chair and sets off alone.

***

 

 

Sarah uses the back roads that she had scoped out months before, so the trip into town took longer. But time was something Sarah had too much of and not enough. There’s not enough time left in the world, she heard Kyle’s voice echo. I didn’t have enough time with John, her voice echoed back. Or you. But Sarah locks those thoughts away. John made his choice. It was up to him to do what he was meant to. It was up to Sarah to make sure he had as little to do as possible and stop Skynet. Sarah hit the town by mid-morning, parking on the outskirts. Aviators on, Sarah’s first stop was the salon.

     Feeling better walking out than when she walked in, Sarah runs her hand through her shorter hair. The girl who cut it said it was in, everyone was going shorter. That was fine with Sarah. She wanted to look like everyone else. From there, Sarah hit the department store. Clothes for Savannah, James and herself. She stops at a stand and picks up several newspapers. The most important part of this recon was the info.

     It wasn’t on the front page— things moved faster now and people lost interest— but there was a follow- up article four pages in about the bombing. There staring back at her was Sarah’s most recent mug shot, next to a camera still of her and her son entering Ziera Corp, taken from a bank across the street. John’s face was obscured. He was merely an unidentified young male, believed to be John Connor. Thankfully, all footage of them inside the building had been destroyed in the blast. There was an insert of the wrecked building, a small article asking anyone with information to call the FBI, and no mention of Savannah or James. Yet. Sarah briefly looks around, drinks her coffee and heads back to the Jeep. She’s consoled that the publicity on this would fade soon. She’s apprehensive, however that she was back on the FBI radar. She now knew that Skynet had to have this information as well. If they didn’t have blips of Connor activity before, now they had a time and place where Sarah and John were last seen. For all Sarah knew, Skynet had Danny Dyson, already rebuilding his father’s work from Cyberdyne. If she was going to stay alive, Sarah had to remember that she was not a machine. She was fighting for her soul, just as much as the world. Just as much as fighting for her son. And now, Savannah. The machines would come for them. Always did. They wanted Savannah, for what, Sarah had to find out. Whether Sarah was prepared for it or not, the girl was hers now. Auldridge said Savannah’s involvement made this an international scene as well. Too many ways this could go bad. Sarah grimaces. Too many moving pieces. Unseen hands at work. She takes a deep breath, making herself take note of the blue sky behind the low set buildings, the breeze rolling through the south, towards ... whatever home could be, right now.

Sarah grabs the map from the glove compartment. It was a risk, but she had to try. She drives to the next town over and makes a phone call.

***

     James and Savannah are eating lunch as Sarah opens the door to the safe house. She walks in with bags in her hands, aviators on.

     “Nice haircut,” James scoffs flatly, wiping his hands and standing.

     “Apparently it’s all the rage,” Sarah humors, taking off her glasses and letting them hang from her dark green tank top. Savannah gets up slowly from the table, standing in front of Sarah, looking up cautiously. Sarah gives the smallest grin as she nudges one shopping bag with her foot. “I got you new clothes. Look inside,” she says in a warmer tone. The girl reaches into the bag, pulling out t-shirts and shorts, a pack of underwear and a pack of socks. Sarah tilts her head to the bedroom. “Go try them on. See if they fit.”

     Savannah nods, dragging the bag into the bedroom and quietly closing the door. Sarah turns to James, hands on her hips.

     “News coverage is minimal, considering. Something in our favor,” Sarah begins, sitting down on the couch as James casually takes out shirts from the bag.

“Small blessings,” James replies, shaking his head. “Doesn’t mean they’re not looking for us.”

Sarah raises her eyebrows, nodding in agreement. She leans forward, her elbows pressed to her knees as she says, “I need you to tell me everything you know about John Henry.”

James sits on one of the supply crates across from Sarah.

“Not much to tell. Weaver kept her reasons to herself. I was teaching John Henry morality. Right and wrong. The ten commandments,” James explains. Sarah scoffs.

“What can a machine understand about religion?” she asks.

“Quite a bit actually,” James replies with a sigh. “Project Babylon was Weaver’s baby. As Head of Security, I was made privy to a back-up site they were setting up to move John Henry after he was attacked.”

“Attacked? By who?” Sarah asks.

James shrugs.

“John Henry thought it was his brother.”

Sarah’s mouth thins, her jaw tensing.

“Skynet?” she guesses.

“Never found out. One of the technicians suggested moving John Henry would change him, so he stayed put. Not too long after, Savannah was kidnapped by you, and we both know how that played out,” James explains, studying Sarah’s face. Her thoughts were clearly turning. “What is it?”

“The back-up site. Do you remember where it is?”

James sits back, crossing his arms across his chest.

“That’s a bad idea.”

 “If there is anything that survived about John Henry, it has to be destroyed. What if the attack came from Site B?” Sarah questions. James runs his hands over his head.

“Sarah, I’m not like you. What do you expect will happen? That I’ll go with you and we’ll just blow up this building?”

Sarah doesn’t blink.

“No. I expect you to babysit.”

***

 

 

When John was four years old, Sarah had to leave him with the women of the village they were taking refuge with in the jungles of Argentina. She heard about a Nazi scientist that had escaped Berlin days before the Allied forces closed in. An old man then, he was said to possess certain technological secrets of the Third Reich for the grandfather of the computer, the Enigma machine. It wasn’t the only machine he had been involved with developing for world domination, so the locals said, and Sarah needed to see for herself. John had cried, frightened to be left among strangers, frightened that his mother was leaving him behind. As Sarah drives through the night to reach Site B, she can hear her young son’s screams echo off the desert terrain.

Sarah leans on her jacket on the ground as she looks through binoculars at Site B. It’s an old nuclear fallout shelter, with a simple fence around the perimeter. No lights in the barrack building or the towers. It looks empty. Sarah is sure that is the intention, but doesn’t buy it. Nothing to see here, just an abandoned base. In no hurry, Sarah observes for nearly a half hour before shifting positions and getting closer. She takes out her fence cutters, makes a hole and steps in enemy territory.

Keeping an eye on the barrack’s building, Sarah carefully approaches the main building, built into the side of a mountain. The door built into the main hangar doors has its window broken. Sarah gives another glance around before crossing the runaway and trying the door. It’s open. No lights on inside. Not a sound but her own careful footsteps. She takes out her flashlight and aims at the floor. File boxes and papers are thrown about. Chairs are turned over, desks on their sides. Whoever was here had cleared out, and in a hurry. Sarah continues on, deeper into the shelter. She passes the enormous blast doors, making her way towards the inner offices. Phones and computers are hanging, thrown about from their desks. In the next room is a glass enclosed lab, then room full of ten-foot-tall servers. The air conditioner still keeping it cool, the servers hum in unison, a soft prevailing rhythm in the darkness, broken up here and there by small red and blue lights. Sarah takes her gun out, continuing through the server maze until the end.

This door is solid steel, without a handle. Just a key pad. Sarah shines the light on the numbers, noting which ones are more worn than the others. After a few tries, Sarah lands the right combination and the door opens, sliding into the wall. Automatic lights turn on as Sarah steps through. Her adrenaline spikes. She raises her gun, frozen for half a heartbeat.

There is a man plugged into the wall, eyes blank, starring through Sarah.

 

After the longest seconds of her life, Sarah steps to the side of the machine, her gun lowered, but still at the ready. A thick band of wiring connects from the base of the machine’s skull, snaking its way to ten or so hard drives, protected behind a wall of glass. Sarah let her bag of C4 down on the floor. Her utility knife in hand, she quietly goes to work, setting up the plastique. This thing, whatever it was, was in sleep mode. As long as Sarah left it alone, the machine wouldn’t activate. She remembered when John had been locked in a nuclear bunker on one of their missions to destroy a truck load of coltan. Still, she’s uneasy as she begins to work the wiring. Footsteps hit Sarah’s ears. She freezes. A security guard enters the room, his flashlight’s beam skidding over the walls. He spots the bag of explosives— and lifts the alarm lever on the wall. A piercing siren wails to life with purple strobes going on and off, and in an instant, the machine activates, turning its head toward the guard. Moving fast, it whirls around, tossing the guard across the room. He crashes into a metal cabinet, dropping, dead weight on the ground. Sarah scrambles behind a desk. The machine catches the movement. It shoves the desk across the room with one hand, grabbing Sarah with the other, dangling her high like a dead fish, its eyes scanning her own. Sarah struggles, uselessly. The machine tilts its head.

“Sarah Connor. You rescued Savannah Weaver from the attempt on her life,” the machine states, its voice unfeeling, without inflection of any kind. It releases Sarah. She falls on the ground, grabbing her gun. She throws herself behind the dented metal cabinet for cover. But the machine stays where it is. It continues to speak. “I will not harm you, Sarah Connor. Savannah Weaver was John Henry’s friend. You helped Savannah Weaver. Are you her friend?”

Sarah peers over, spotting the motionless guard behind the machine.

“I’m protecting her,” she finally answers, breathing hard, her adrenaline pulsing.

“Then you and I are allies, Sarah Connor. I can help you,” the machine says.

“Yeah right,” Sarah sasses, eyeing the explosives again. How to get by him? The machine turns and examines what Sarah is looking at. He picks up the bag and walks over, extending the straps to her, in offering. Sarah accepts the bag, brow bent in thought. The machine tilts his head again.

“I am called Atlas,” the machine introduces. “Dr. Bowen says introductions put human beings at ease. I would like to put you at ease.”

“Who’s Dr. Bowen?” Sarah frowns, still weary. There’s no telling when more guards would swarm them.

“Dr. Bowen created me in case John Henry was defective,” Atlas explains. “Are you familiar with the Greek hero Atlas? He upholds the world.”

Sarah takes a deep breath. This was not a terminator. This thing, was something else. The siren stops blaring, but the purple strobes are still repeating.

“You want to help me protect Savannah? It involves destroying all of the servers and data in this facility. Can you do that? Or are you permanently attached to those wires?” Sarah asks, motioning to the tail of wires behind Atlas. Atlas’ eyes widen as it follows her line of sight. “If you can, do it. And fast.”

“I have never detached before. It is how I see everything,” Atlas answers, taking strides towards the glass wall, looking upon the servers in awe. It reaches back and grabs the wires firmly. “But I am not chained.” It yanks everything out, letting the cords and wires drop heavily on the floor. It faces Sarah again. “I will help you protect Savannah.”

Sarah nods, grabbing the detonator and shouldering the bag of explosives.

They escape without running into any more security, and as soon as they’re clear, Sarah blows the building to hell. She watches everything burn, frozen by the familiar image of destruction from her dreams. Then, she turns to Atlas.

“Bowen. Does she have other facilities?”

“Yes,” Atlas answers. “I have detailed files on her labs, storage facilities and numerous addresses.”

Sarah steps up to the machine.

“It has to be destroyed. All of it. That’s the only way we keep Savannah safe,” Sarah states, her green eyes bearing into the machine, trying to discern any kind of soul in there. But Atlas’ face remains calm, placid. As if she just said the sky was blue. She looks back at the flames in the distance, asking, “Where does Bowen live?”

***

 

**BURBANK, CALIFORNIA- 15 hours before FBI RAID**

     Sarah and Atlas part ways once they arrive in Los Angeles. She lets Atlas out, with the coordinates to one of the other safe houses that Sarah has, with instructions to meet once its mission is complete. She stops into the nearest shop for a pre-paid phone, and makes another call.

Hours later, wearing a Dodger’s hat, reflective aviators and a forest green bomber jacket, Sarah drinks coffee on a park bench. A young man with buzzed blonde hair and suspicious blue eyes jogs by her in grey sweatpants, then doubles back. He stands still, uncertain.

“Mrs. Connor?” the teenager asks cautiously.

Sarah chuckles at the title.

“Sarah’s fine. Sit down Martin,” Sarah instructs quietly. The teenager, the same age as John, takes a seat, but not too close. Sarah continues, “did you see us on the news?”

Martin nods.

“Skynet attacked us in that building, Martin. Or whatever becomes Skynet. And John—”

“What happened to him?” Martin asks, concern strewn in his voice.

“John’s where he’s supposed to be,” Sarah recovers, feeling for some sense of control. “But I need you to be prepared. Learn everything you can. Squirrel away any supplies that you can, tell no one. Guns, food, medicine. Keep your ears open and your head down, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Martin replies. Sarah nods, sitting back against the bench.

“Did you do what I asked?”

“Yes ma'am. I called Mrs. Dyson. She didn’t believe me at first, or didn’t want to. But she knows,” Martin explains, looking out at the children playing baseball in the field below. He rubs the back of his neck, studying her. “You know, it’s a five-hour trip back to Palo Alto. Could we get some food?”

***

As the sun sets, Sarah heads for the address of Eli Bowen, provided by Atlas. It’s a quiet neighborhood, plenty of trees and greenery providing limited visuals from the windows. From across the street, Sarah watches a few visitors get buzzed into the apartment building, including a food delivery man on a scooter. She crosses the street, keeping an eye out around her, and hits a few buttons until someone answers, “Who is it?”

“Seamless,” Sarah replies. “4A isn’t answering. Can you let me up?”

The door buzzes and she’s in.

The apartment of Dr. Bowen smells strongly of lemon scented bleach. Three large bay windows stream in the street lights, turning on to welcome the night. Plants were everywhere- succulents, cacti and aloe, but no flowers. The light grey walls were bare. Not a solitary picture or poster. As Sarah carefully moves through the apartment, she’s struck by the idea that she’s in a catalog, or a staged Ikea room. The kitchen is small and bare save for a red tea kettle on the stove, added to the side like a forgotten, or exiled place. The bedroom is a different story.

Dr. Bowen has her back to Sarah, bobbing her head to the music from her wireless headphones. With a quick glance around, Sarah spots three different computer towers, one lap top and three, four-drawer filing cabinets. There’s a pull-down Murphy bed, and a planetarium on the nightstand. Gun out, Sarah presses the point against the back of the woman’s neck. She freezes, raising her hands slowly. With her free hand, Sarah pulls the headphones off and tosses them.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

Dr. Bowen’s thin face is mapped by worry lines on her forehead. Her bright blue eyes aren’t wide with fear, but narrowed with focus through thick-rimmed lilac glasses.

“Elise Bowen?” Sarah asks.

“And who might you be?” is her reply.

“I’m the one looking for Danny Dyson. Where is he?”

Dr. Bowen smiles, lowering her hands.

“I recognize you, Sarah Connor. I guess your cybernetic friend didn’t survive the explosion, or it would be here with you now. A shame. I’d love to examine its anatomy.”

“I found a new friend. Called Atlas.”

The smile thins from the woman’s mouth until a firm line.

“That’s how I found you. Right now, it’s out destroying everything you stashed away. I’ll ask you again. Where is Danny Dyson?”

Dr. Bowen sighs.

“Ms. Connor, I’m an old woman. You can put down that gun. Let’s move this to living room. I’ll make tea and you can destroy all the hard drives you want.”

Sarah frowns at the offer, as Dr. Bowen shrugs, struggling to get to her feet, using the arms of the chair for support.

“I never have any company,” she explains, walking slowly by Sarah and into the kitchen. “And the old know when they’ve been beaten a lot better than the young, let me tell you.”

Hard drives in the microwave and two mugs of tea between on the coffee table, Sarah sits on the arm chair opposite the couch where Bowen makes herself comfortable, her back to the bay windows. The table lamps pop on, as it is fully dark outside.

“Timer,” Dr. Bowen explains, letting her tea steep. “So. You found Project Battlestar, you’ve freed Atlas and now you want to free Danny Dyson, and presumably all the other students with him. Is that the gist of it? Well. They’re all working in a complex outside of Las Vegas. It’s not on any map, as it’s a government facility, but—” Bowen trails off, handing Sarah her cell phone. “I’ve Googled Mapped the route a dozen times from the airport, so you’ll have no trouble finding it.”

“Government facility?”

“I’ve been working under a contract with the United States military to develop advanced cybernetic weapons applications. It’s been a fever dream of mine since the 80s to build the perfect soldier,” Dr. Bowen explains, sipping her tea. Her voice softens, and she takes the time to clean her glasses with a microfiber cloth from her shirt pocket. “I lost my brother Samuel in the Vietnam War. I was hollowed by his loss, but time heals the wounds of youth and I went to school for engineering and theoretical physics. My companion Sylvia was an operative during the Cold War. When I lost her, I was maddened by the primeval drive to construct the perfect soldier, one that couldn’t die. And I’m sorry to say it has brought me down the darkest of paths. Not a fan of tea, huh?”

Sarah hasn’t touched it. She shakes her head, taken by surprise by this woman.

“You’re not what I expected.”

Dr. Bowen shrugs.

“Who is?”

“What are Danny and the others working on?” Sarah asks after putting Bowen’s phone away.

“The brain. The DNA for the soldiers that can’t die. Perfectly lethal, I’m sorry to say. The government has turned this into another WMD, a level exceeding the nuclear option. No matter if our enemies hide in the caves and mountains, these cybernetic soldiers won’t rest until they have acquired their target. But once there are no more targets, I fear what will become of this country and the world. Atlas,” Dr. Bowen drinks again. “—isn’t one of those monsters. His body is nearly the completed product, but he’s got a soul, you see. That’s what the Pentagon called a ‘pedagogical failure’ on my part. That’s why we started again in the Nevada complex. To work out the soul of my designs,” she chuckles sadly, putting down her mug. “In wanting to spare anyone else the devastation of losing their loved ones, I am accountable for far worse. I’m glad Atlas is destroying my life’s work. No one should follow it. I will tell you. The Nevada complex is heavily guarded. It’s not a one-person job, what you endeavor to do, Ms. Connor. I would advise—”

Glass shatters. Sarah is sprayed with blood. The old woman’s body falls forward and drops onto the floor with a thud. Her veins flooded with adrenaline, Sarah drops low, bolting for the window off to the side, onto the fire escape. Sarah races down and down, trying to stay steady on the shaky metal. At the bottom, the ladder is stuck. She hits the rudder with the butt of her gun, but no luck. Hearing shouting from the apartment, Sarah looks anxiously below. An open dumpster. She leaps, landing hard. But she’s in survival mode. She keeps moving. She blocks the pain. Pain can be controlled. It has to be. She hauls herself out of the dumpster and starts down the alley. She bolts half way and hears, “STOP, FBI!” Sarah turns, gun in hand. She squeezes off two shots, forcing the agent for cover. Sarah grabs her smoke bomb from her belt and sets it off with a hiss, but not before eyeing a manhole cover and her exit.

Sarah runs through the sewers below, following the markers she had made earlier in the day to guide her back to her vehicle several blocks away. She stops, leaning against a wall to catch her breath. The last few minutes rush by her in a blur, but this time Sarah catches the details in reverse. The FBI agent was a blonde woman. Green eyes. There wasn’t a second shot up at the apartment— Sarah wasn’t the target. A professional had taken out Bowen. Was it the FBI? Bowen said she was working for the Pentagon. Did they know she spoke to Sarah? Was everything compromised?

Sarah shakes her head, silencing her thoughts. She has a mission to complete.

***

 

James wasn’t happy about the extended adventure, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Sarah said if he didn’t hear from them in 24 hours, to take Savannah south, into Mexico. He reminded her of the last time they went to Mexico, when they finally destroyed Cromartie during the Day of the Dead. John had taken Riley there, and Sarah spent hours in the trunk of a car, her hand split open from a soda can. Good times.

After they hang up, Sarah spots Atlas standing still as a statue on the border of Nevada. She slows to a stop, and the machine climbs in. The car sinks to its side from the machine’s weight. Sarah holds out the late Dr. Bowen’s cell.

     “We have to rescue some people. Are you up for that?”

     Atlas turns its head, looking at Sarah.

     “I am not combat efficient,” it answers.

     Sarah shifts the car in gear, her brow tense. She keeps her focus on the dark road ahead.

***


	3. The FBI Agent & The Terrorist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Connor and the terminator prototype Atlas throw down at the Nevada Black Site, discovering a real Terminator! The two machines go at it, while Sarah desperately tries to rescue Danny Dyson. All that and more, when FBI Agent Olivia Dunham finally catches up to Sarah.

**Black Site, Nevada Complex**

A dry wind cuts through the flat terrain surrounding the targeted complex. There are craggy hills to the East of the short, squat building, but the rest is an empty, monotone wasteland of desert and bleating sun. One Humvee with a weapon mount stands at attention in the front, covering the gate for the only road, going in or out. A guard’s house is situated at the automatic gate, with a clear view of the empty stretch of road from there to the main highway, at a stretch of a ten-minute ride. The complex is planted deeply, to buy as much time as possible, if need be.

     A single Jeep turns off the main road and starts down the long empty stretch towards the complex. All eyes are on this unscheduled visitor, though the Jeep looks military issue. They allow it to approach. But instead of slowing down for the gate, the vehicle picks up speed. The Humvee opens fire, a warning shot, but the vehicle breaks through the gate. It’s full steam ahead. Soldiers are scrambling now, lighting up the vehicle, trying to stop it. Someone darts out of the passenger side, barrel rolling. The vehicle smacks into a cement roadblock, flipping forward, then bouncing back onto its wheels. No eyes on the intruder, but a swarm of soldiers circles the vehicle. One soldier steps up, gun trained on the interior. No one moves. One second. Two second. The soldier puts his hand on the handle and opens the door.

     Sarah, dressed in body armor and armed to the teeth, has already slipped into the main building of the complex when she hears a not too distant explosion. She moves unseen towards her first two combatants, standing guard at the door. The building walls and floor shakes, some windows shatter. She stays low and uses the distraction as intended. She thrusts her boot hard into the first soldier’s calf, bringing him down to his knees as she feeds him a blast of volts through her taser. The other soldier is quick— he pops her in the mouth with the butt of his rifle. Stunned, Sarah’s instinct saves her. She grabs the rifle, pulling it towards her as her momentum carries them both toward the floor. She sidesteps him and cracks his face with her elbow. He drops to the floor, beside his buddy. Sarah grabs his radio, tuning in as she flips the fire alarm on the wall and continues into the next room.

     Outside, Atlas silently observes the devastation it has caused, largely untroubled from the scrapes and bruises it suffered from the tuck and roll. Ten heaps of burning men are spread out around the smoldering Jeep, black and charred. A fire alarm sounds off from the main building as Atlas tracks the landscape for movement. He turns back to the vehicle. One of the soldiers closest to the blast gets to his feet. Atlas’ zooms in on the soldier’s face. Half of it is burned away, revealing chrome metal and a red robotic eye. It stiffly scans around it, observing as well. It spots Atlas.

     Inside, crowds of college students and scientists in white lab coats rush by Sarah as she frantically tries to find Danny. Some students have poured liquid over the computers, causing the consoles to short circuit. Some are catching fire. Three soldiers grab students running by them, knocking them to the ground, panic on their faces, unsure what is happening. One soldier takes aim at one of the kids. Sarah shoots him square in his body armor. He drops, alive, but in agony. It gives the other students a chance to attack the soldiers, overwhelming them by force, trying to take away their weapons. Shots ring out. Screams pierce the air. Sarah keeps moving, trying to focus in the chaos, while staying out of sight. She grabs a young man running by.

     “DANNY DYSON?” Sarah shouts. The young man, wide eyed, frightened out of his mind, shakes his head and staggers away.

     “HERE! HE’S HERE,” comes a girl’s voice a little deeper in. Sarah pushes through the people, moving behind a turned over filing cabinet with bullet holes. The girl is crying, near hysterical as she’s covering Danny, older than the last time Sarah saw him, but definitely him, with a bullet in his side.

     “DANNY!” Sarah shouts, trying to make him focus. He nods his head quickly, clearly terrified.

     “NO, no, no Sarah Connor, what—” he stammers, struggling to stand and falling back down.

     The wall behind them explodes— Sarah catches the sight of Atlas being launched through the wall and crashing through a glass wall, landing hard on the ground. Appearing through the hole in the wall is—

Sarah’s heart pounds like a drum as she spots the half metal face of a real Terminator. She grabs Danny by the shoulders, shouting at the girl to run, fumbling with the awkward weight. The girl escapes. The Terminator ignores Sarah and Danny for the moment, moving straight to Atlas. It stands over Atlas on the floor. It kneels down, face pallid and calm as it reaches for Atlas’ head. Atlas strikes weakly at the Terminator. It is injured too badly. The Terminator gives a sudden twist. Screaming metal cuts through the air as Sarah watches horrified as the Terminator stands slowly, holding Atlas’ head, torn from its body. It takes a step, dropping Atlas’ head and looks at Sarah.

     Sarah catches a flash of a young woman baseball sliding behind the Terminator. She drops something between its legs and leaps for cover.

     “GET DOWN!”

     Sarah throws her and Danny back behind the filing cabinet as a huge blast sets off with white light.

     The unknown fighter reappears, knife in hand. It cuts into the paralyzed Terminator’s skull and pulls its chip. Not missing a beat, she rushes to Sarah, pulling Danny up and over her shoulders, pausing to look Sarah in the eye. The young woman’s face was covered with a skull bandana, but her hazel eyes shone brightly against black camo paint.

     “This whole place is rigged to blow. Let’s move!”

     Sarah covers them as they bust through an exit door, into a garage. Sarah pulls off the tarp of the nearest vehicle— an old, roofless Willy model Jeep, army green. She helps load Danny into the back, while her new friend runs to the garage door and hits the button. As the garage door lifts, Sarah starts the engine and pulls out. The stranger grabs the side of the Jeep and hops in. They head for the rugged hills. Half way there, the complex erupts behind them, sending a blast wave against their backs and a giant column of dark smoke into the sky. The Jeep is able to handle the rough terrain, and they make it safely to the top of the hill. Sarah stops the Jeep, checking on Danny. His brown eyes are drooping, but he manages a small grin, giving her a thumbs up.

     “Thanks... for getting me out.”

     The stranger stands up in the Jeep, pointing.

     “Company.”

     A train of black SUVs makes its way to the smoldering complex, though some have stopped around the escaped students, met out at the road. Sarah watches as all manners of FBI climb out, giving the zone a wide perimeter. She looks through her rifle scope, and spots the blonde woman from the alleyway.

     “C’mon.”

    

     The stranger guides Sarah to a nearby cave, wanting to wait until dark to make their move. Leaving Danny in the Jeep, Sarah walks off to speak to the stranger alone. The young woman pulls down her bandana so it rests around her neck. She extends her hand.

     “I’m call sign Artemis. I was sent from the future to protect you and Savannah Weaver,” Artemis introduces herself. Sarah shakes her hand. “I have a message for you, from John.”

     Sarah’s heart ends up in her throat. She waits. Then, she thinks better of it.

     “Tell me later,” Sarah says, turning her attention to Danny. “Let’s start a fire, keep him warm. Once it’s dark, we’ll take him back to my safe house.”

     They made Danny comfortable beside the fire, dressing his wound. Sarah and Artemis sit at the mouth of the cave, overlooking the barren and beautiful desert.

     “What year are you from?” Sarah asks.

     “2031.”

     “When does it happen?”

     “Skynet goes online a year from now, on July 9th, 2010 at 7:03 Eastern Time. The bombs drop two days later,” Artemis explains, taking a swig from her canteen. She offers it to Sarah. Sarah refuses, still reeling. Cameron said that Judgement day was April 21, 2011. How did they lose time? Sarah swallows hard. She doesn’t say anything, unsure of how much this girl knew. Artemis caps her canteen and continues, briefly looking over her shoulder to Danny. “You know, that kid’s not going to make it. We should push on to your safe house.”

     Sarah glares.

     “We’re not leaving him to die.”

     “He’s not part of the mission,” Artemis shrugs. Her tone softens. “More importantly, he’s in pain.”

     Sarah stands up, takes a step toward the soldier.

     “No.”

     Sarah turns her back to Artemis and studies Danny. Even from here, she can see he’s broken into a sweat on his brow, his forehead tensed, his eyes closed. He was getting worse and she knew it.

     “We’re taking him to the nearest hospital,” Sarah decides, turning back to face Artemis. Artemis raises her eyebrows.

     “I don’t have to tell you what a terrible idea that is.”

     “Are you going to help me or not?” Sarah demands, green eyes catching the setting sun.

     Artemis sighs deeply, shaking her head. She stands up, walking towards Danny. She pauses a moment on him. Sarah watches her, unsure of her new protector. But Artemis kicks sand over the fire, and grabs Danny under his arms. Sarah steps up, taking his feet and together, they load Danny into the Jeep.

***

**Hospital**

     Olivia Dunham’s phone tap of Tarissa Dyson’s house line paid off. Someone had called Tarissa to tell her that Danny was in a hospital in Nevada, and that he didn’t have long.

     On the way there, Olivia is assaulted by the images of the day. The explosion. All those kidnapped students, running towards them. They had detained several scientists and soldiers, but the military police arrived along with the CIA moments after and shut the FBI out. Jurisdiction, jurisdiction. All that leg work, for nothing. Olivia had managed to keep Sarah Connor’s involvement out of the paperwork seized by the CIA, but barely. Many of the fleeing students mentioned a woman trying to save people. The same woman that was seen taking Danny Dyson to safety, along with someone else, as yet unidentified.

     “Olivia? You okay?” Astrid asks.

     “Yeah.”

     “Really? Because you’re white knuckling the steering wheel.”

     Olivia relaxes her grip, resting her head in her hand, keeping her eyes on the road.

     “We were too late. At every turn,” Olivia finally says.

     “Danny Dyson’s still alive. There’s that,” Astrid points out.

     Olivia doesn’t answer. She knew the boy was in critical condition, and not likely to last till morning. Auldridge leans forward from the back seat.

     “Listen, this is par for the course with this case, Dunham. Every time you make it to the final room, the floor collapses under you. I had Sarah Connor across from me, and I wasn’t even close,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault.”

     _Then why does it feel like it is?_ Olivia thinks, but keeps it to herself.

     At the hospital, Astrid sits with Tarissa Dyson in the waiting room, while Olivia is escorted by security to look at the surveillance video when Danny Dyson was dropped off. Sarah Connor and an unidentified woman can be seen carrying Danny into the ER, but once he’s on a stretcher, they vanish. Auldridge calls Olivia outside.

     “We got plates,” he says, a big grin on his face. “McDonald’s security camera caught them leaving.”

***

**ABANDONED GAS STATION, just outside town**

     Sarah sits with the Jeep door open, holding her phone in her hand in an abandoned gas station a few miles from the hospital. She was coming up on her window to check in with James, but Sarah couldn’t bring herself to dial the number. Danny’s blood was all over the back seat. She had failed to save Danny, just like she failed to save John. Her eyes shift to Artemis, sitting on top of a stack of old tires. She pulls out a strip of beef jerky, offering it up. Sarah shakes her head. Artemis rips into it hungrily.

     “How did you know how to find me?” Sarah asks.

     “Martin Bedel,” Artemis answers. “I was sitting on him for about three weeks. I knew him, in the future. He mentioned meeting you once. Trailed you from there.”

     “What’s the girl got to do with this? Why did Skynet try to assassinate her?”

     “Van Weaver is part of the team that creates Pegasus, an anti-virus that wipes out the Skynet AI in 2030. She’s the reason the human race survives. The resistance is largely just hunting down the remaining terminators and HKs, anything that didn’t get taken out with the main hub. We were rebuilding when I left.”

***


End file.
